


Champagne for the Soul

by spookyghostboy



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Drinking Champagne Alone In A Shitty Motel Room, Fake Names, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 09:33:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyghostboy/pseuds/spookyghostboy
Summary: Tonight, Peter decides that he will leave the past behind. What good really is the past, anyway?





	Champagne for the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo yo yo
> 
> i’ve been pretty shitty with my mental health, probably the worst i’ve been in a while, and i thought... why don’t i project it onto my boy? 
> 
> this fic was partially inspired by the songs shampain by marina and the diamonds, and night shift by lucy dacus.

On a particularly daring afternoon, Peter Nureyev decides to do a bit of shopping. He doesn’t spoil himself often, but he figures today that he needs a bit of that sweet self care. After all, if he can’t spoil himself, who will? He supposes to himself that’s how that phrase goes.

So the thief goes on a spending spree with money to spare, occasionally stealing the items that are small enough to slip into his pockets without looking suspicious. So far he’s acquired some new lipsticks, a whole spectrum of different nail polishes, a couple of face masks, a bottle of high end perfume, and a mix for a cherry blossom bubble bath. The only thing that would make this complete, he thinks, is a nice bottle of something. Preferably alcoholic. 

As he’s in the alcohol aisle, he skims through all the red wines and the cheap beers. However, when his eyes meet the bottles of Jim Beam, he goes frozen. That was Juno’s favorite brand, he recalls. In fact, his eyes are dead locked on the very same bottle he had on his desk the day he was Rex Glass. He can practically still taste the glass Juno had poured him; he could feel the burning in his throat and the warmth in his stomach all again. Peter Nureyev couldn’t say he was a fan, but Rex Glass savored every drop. He could still taste Juno as well, lips all rich with his own glass of Double Oak liquor. Rex and Peter could come to a collective agreement that they enjoyed tasting it more on the lips of the detective than in their own mouth. Nothing could ever compare. 

Rex, however, is gone now. And so is Juno.

The pain has ached ever since that faithful night in Hyperion and it shows no signs of letting up anytime soon. It’s been a while now, yet he still feels just as used as when he woke up alone. Sometimes, Peter wonders to himself what made Juno different from all the people he’s met throughout his career as a thief. Well, he can finally recognize that the difference between the people he’s left behind and Juno is that he was foolish enough to think that it would ever lasted, and that Juno was the one to leave. A bitter taste of his own medicine, he supposes. 

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice himself shaking. A fellow customer in the aisle eyes the beers tries to keep to themself, but occasionally they look up at him with a sorry expression. Maybe they don’t think Peter sees them. He sees, and he doesn’t need their pity. 

Today, Peter decides that he will leave the past behind. What good really is the past, anyway?

Today, Peter decides his name is Julien Valentine. A pretty name he deems very appropriate for a very pretty boy, and an alias he was saving for a very special occasion. Tonight, Julien will sneak into a grand party meant for the rich, schmooze a bit, and possibly get a nice haul of riches out of it. And he will do it with the utmost of class.

Feeling fancy, he settles on the prettiest champagne bottle in the aisle, and checks out all his items on a credit card with a name that isn’t his.  
—  
Julien seems to blend right in with the crowd with his stolen jewels and sparkling dress because the bouncer had let him right in. For such a high profile celebration, he’s a bit surprised at such lax security. After a bit of time spent hanging around and socializing (Julien is quite the people person, after all!), a handsome little rich boy who introduces himself as Damien whispers into his ear and invites him to a luxurious bedroom a few stories up. Julien assumes through the context clues of the situation that this is his own; that this is his party. Tonight, he will absolutely milk this man for everything he’s worth. After all, Damien is merely a pawn in his game. 

Lips touch lips, skin touches skin, and for just a bit Julien forgets all his worries. It’s only foreplay, but he had forgotten how much he desperately missed it. For once, he lets himself succumb to the touch of another. After all, Julien is a very versatile lover.

“Oh, Juno…”

A slip of the tongue. He supposes he got too wrapped up in the moment. The man stares at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Disappointment? Pain?

Nevertheless, they just look at each other with eyes the both of them could never decipher, and Peter excuses himself out. He will never see this man again.  
—  
Bitter tears start to well up in Peter’s eyes as soon as he finds himself home (Home, at least for tonight. Where really is home, anyway?). How long has it been since he’s truly cried? Not out of relief like in that Martian tomb, or as he caressed Juno in that hotel bed they made their own, but out of grief. Maybe it was at the realization that his love was never coming back, and that he would never live the life he so desperately wanted with him. It sounds about right, but it’s hard to say; the days blur together so easily. 

Somewhere in the distance, Peter hears the sounds of uncontrollable sobbing, but he’s not sure whether the sounds come from him.

Slender, shaking fingers wrap around the pretty pink champagne bottle conveniently placed on his right. He drinks until he can’t think, crimson lipstick staining the mouth of the bottle. It’s a nasty little habit he’s picked up recently that hasn’t quite left.

The thief looks pathetic, makeup ruined and writhing on the motel floor that probably hasn’t been cleaned in who knows how long, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He wonders to himself how many times the detective had found himself in this same exact scenario, whiskey in hand and wallowing in his own self pity and hatred. He seems to be becoming more and more like him everyday. 

If Juno saw him like this, Peter is almost certain he would find it humorous. With this thought, he drifts off into a dreamless sleep, though he wished his dear detective would have at least visited him in this form.

**Author's Note:**

> it would mean the world to me if you would comment!! comments make my day, but if you don’t feel up to it kudos are just as good. 
> 
> thank you for readin. <3


End file.
